10 Years of Sobriety

How I got here and what I learned

Hello. You’ve reached Time & Temperature.

Ten years ago, in a gorgeous hotel room in London’s SoHo neighborhood, I drank my last drink. A celebratory final glass of wine at dinner that evening had turned into a celebratory bottle of Irish whiskey in a dark hotel room late that night, which had inevitably become my final hangover.

Photo by Nancy Newberry

I’d made the decision to reevaluate my relationship with drinking a few months earlier after a particularly unpleasant Easter, then I’d begun the process of unlearning my old habits. I dismantled the alcohol-centered lifestyle that was the only one I’d known since adolescence, and replaced it with a yawning uncertainty. What do sober people even do?

The few sober folks I knew seemed happy and normal, but I’d always assumed theirs was a joyless existence of bitter regret, remembered pleasure and bleak monotony. All they had to look forward to in life was paying down their karmic debts and living down their terrible mistakes. My image of rock bottom looked nothing like my life. I was doing great! Until I wasn’t.

I used to wake up after long nights whose ends I couldn’t quite piece together, and discover notes I’d written myself. A folded receipt in my wallet or a bar napkin in the pocket of my leather jacket would surprise me at breakfast, a missive from another man, my drunken self of the previous evening. There in the furtive scrawl of a hostage, would be a note reading, “it’s time,” or “you’ve GOT to STOP.”

And so I finally stopped. A few last-gasp binges (notably the long day of filming the music video for “Most In The Summertime), and that final bottle in the SoHo hotel were but the sputtering coughs of an engine headed for the scrap heap. The problem was I’d always assumed that engine had been responsible for my artistic output, my success and my friendships. I discovered however that anyone or anything in your life worth keeping can and will withstand your sobriety.

Finding a comfortable sobriety took a while and, like most folks, I didn’t do it alone. I leaned on friends who’d been through it already (music writer Christian Hoard was a good role-model), and read books (Sarah Hepola’s Blackout is a great one), but I couldn’t have done it without the support of my therapist Lois, a brilliant old-school, no-bullshit Manhattanite who didn’t sugarcoat anything. If I got to complaining about family members or band-mates, she’d always wrinkle her nose and say, “We’re not here to talk about them, we’re here to talk about you.”

Alcoholics Anonymous fascinated me, but held no long-term appeal. The stories and shared wisdom are incredible, and I know that the support the program offers its adherents has saved millions of lives, but after a few attempts to find my place within its structure I gave up. Over the last decade I’ve had AA proponents criticize my approach, telling me that without “working the program” I’m nothing but a “dry drunk.” I don’t know what to say; the approach I took worked for me.

If I hadn’t had the support of a qualified therapist, during the crucial first few years, I might afford their accusations more validity, but my journey to sobriety was intentional and ultimately successful. I love my life and I’m so glad to have made it to this place. I’ve been able to keep my family, band and friendships intact. I wake up every day excited for what the day might bring.

A decade into my sobriety, I’m thrilled to tell you that not only was my drinking not solely responsible for the good things in my life, it was undermining, even destroying my happiness and creativity. Sobriety isn’t sad and boring at all, rather it’s consistent, clear and calm. I laugh; I dance; I thrill; I marvel, and I swell with gratitude. On any given day I can take a deep breath and know that I’m in control of my own life—there’s no fuzzy-headed, late-night party animal holding me hostage.

I’m no Prohibitionist. I know that sobriety isn’t for everyone. But I’ll tell you right now that if my story is giving you thorny, complicated feelings about where you’re at in your life right now with regards to alcohol, please do yourself the favor of honoring and entertaining those feelings. You won’t get sober until you’re ready, but you may be ready now. I’ve never known one sober person who regrets having made the choice to live a clear and present life. It’s a beautiful thing.

yrs,

Rhett

PS (I also gave up weed around the same time. My ten-year anniversary for that will come around in August. I may write something about it as well, but despite a 30-year daily habit that certainly had a number of negative effects on my life, I never found marijuana to be quite as devastating or pernicious as booze. That said, I got out before the ubiquity of crippling super-weed to which modern stoners have such easy access.)

PPS (Check out a couple of relevant music videos. Here’s the Old 97’s music video for “Let’s Get Drunk And Get It On” from which I used a still image above. And here’s the amazing Max Nichols-directed video for “Most In The Summertime.” I’d forgotten how many killer cameos there are in this one!)